Zot Habracha and Shemini Atzeret

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Foundations of Joy

The Torah ends with three pesukim which are a sweeping tribute to the greatness of Moshe and his unique and lasting accomplishments. The last words of the tribute are, “which Moses performed before the eyes of all Israel.” Rashi tells us this refers to when Moshe broke the luchot. This last comment of Rashi’s on the Torah takes us back to a moment of national disgrace, but also paradoxically, to a moment of healing. Moshe received a yasher koach from Hashem for his decision to smash the luchot. Reish Lakish, the ultimate baal teshuva, comments on this that there are times when Torah is established only through a process of bitul, of negation (Menachot 99a).

This is an amazingly fitting and powerful message for this time of year. These thoughts of brokenness and repair accompany us as we finish our yearly reading of the Torah, the cycle of chagim in Tishrei and the cycle of the shalosh regalim. Years ago in the desert, the broken luchot were placed into the aron alongside the new luchot we received on Yom Kippur. When we marched forward as a nation into Eretz Yisrael, we were carrying them both together. The second luchot were born from the broken shards of the first luchot, just as today the joy of Sukkot is born from our brokenness on Yom Kippur, and our success in the new year is built on our ability to absorb and accept not just our successes but also the failures of the year we are leaving behind.

This idea takes on more depth through Rav Schorr’s beautiful explanation of the deeper meaning of the nisuch hamayim, the water drawing ceremony which took place when the Beit Hamikdash was standing. During the nisuch hamayim, the nation would gather together in the courtyard every night, singing and dancing with unparalleled joy until daybreak. Afterward, a procession would gather water from the Shiloach spring. The water would be poured on the altar together with the wine libation of the morning offering.

Rashi (Vayikra 2:13) explains that the spiritual origins of this ceremony began during the time of creation, when the lower waters were separated from the higher waters, causing them to cry out to Hashem, “we too want to stand before the King!” One way Hashem consoled the waters was that they would be part of the nisuch hamayim ceremony. However, as Rav Shorr points out, it was a very ironic consolation. The water of the nisuch hamayim was poured down the holes in the alter, to the shittin, the empty space under the alter, and from there fell all the way back down to the depths from whence they came. What type of consolation was this?

To answer, Rav Schorr looks more deeply into the meaning of the shittin, the empty space into which the waters fell. This empty space was originally formed when Hashem gathered up earth for the creation of man. It was the empty space left in the land from the creation of man. It was also the place where Adam offered his first Korban and the place where Avraham brought Yitzchak to the Akeidah.  As Rambam writes, “Man was created from the place of his atonement (Hilchot Beit HaBechirah 2:2).” The shittin symbolizes the empty space Hashem carves out to make room for evil in the world. In other words, it is the place of our bechira, our free will, the place where Hashem’s presence is hidden enough for us to be able to have a real choice between good and bad. It is the place where evil appears real.

Our bechira is born from our separation from Hashem, and so the pain of the lower waters is our pain was well.  From the moment of our creation as independent beings, we too have been crying out that we want to stand before Hashem. When we pour out the water of the nisuch hamayim, and at the same time “pour out our hearts like water before Hashem (Eicha 2:19),” the action becomes the kli, the vessel, to return both the water and ourselves to our source. On a deeper level, when we use our bechira to reveal Hashem in this world we are able to lift the curtain. We reveal that Hashem’s presence is really everywhere. Even in the depths we are still “standing before the King.” The water of the nisuch hamayim physically descends but spiritually rises.

This is the experience we take with us into Shmini Azteret. The Sfat Emet tells us that each of the Shalosh Regalim relate to one of the Avot: Avraham to Pesach, Yitzchak to Shavout and Yaacov to Sukkot. Shmini Atzeret is the holiday of Yosef. Like Yosef, who was sometimes considered an Av and sometimes considered a shevet, it has a bit of a duality. Shmini Atzeret is in some ways part of Sukkot, and in some ways stands on its own.

Yosef was the tzaddik who learned the lessons of Yom Kippur and applied them to life. He understood the real meaning of forgiveness, which is not necessarily what we might assume. When we say to Hashem, “Forgiveness is with you (Tehillim 130:4),” Malbim tells us that this is literal. Forgiving in the sense of making the wrong as if it didn’t happen is an attribute of Hashem.  When someone has truly wronged us, we cannot make it as if it never happened. If we try we will often find ourselves, years after an event, triggered and angry about something we thought we forgave so long ago. For this reason, there is no instance of one person forgiving another in Tanach. Instead, there is something different, something that is exemplified by Yosef.

This is a point Rabbanit Yemima Mizrachi makes eloquently in her book about Yom Kippur. Rabbanit Mizrachi explains that the Torah asks us not to forgive but to make peace. When the brothers came to ask for forgiveness, his response was, “You intended to harm me, but G-d intended it for good, to accomplish what is now being done—the salvation of many lives (Bereisheit 50:20).”

 “Joseph teaches us the meaning of true reconciliation. It is not about making our peace with evil and with evildoers, but about making our peace with what happened and where it led us. It is about being able to say to G-d, ‘Master of the Universe, from this degradation and loss of dignity, I have found salvation…It is about recognizing how everything that happened to us can make the world better for others, without destroying us.” (Yearning to Return, p.137)

Our sukkah is a sukkah of peace. It is the time when we make peace not just with others, but with all the events of our own lives, and with ourselves. As the Ohr Gedalyahu points out, at that moment when Yosef made peace with the brothers, they experienced a complete shift in their perception. They had been interacting with the King of Egypt. They had been facing the enemy. And then the enemy was revealed to be their brother, the brother they had thrown out, but who was willing to make peace with them anyway. The entire world as they understood it shifted. The empty space of evil was revealed to be the place of the revelation of Hashem.

Yosef’s name is given two meanings in Tanach. It means both gathering in and adding (Bereisheit 30:23-24).  Shmini Atzeret, the last day of chag, the day of Yosef, is a day of this two-fold avodah. We gather in all that we have accomplished, including all of our failings. We recognize that just as the ark carries both the broken luchot and the new luchot, we can carry together, in unity, both our successes and our failures. From that place we can move forward and add.

The Sfat Emet (בראשונה”” (תרלו tells us that this is why Sukkot comes after Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur we are all baalei teshuva. We feel that we have no place in the world. However, if we can create no place for ourselves from our own strength, Hashem steps in and gives us a place. And the place Hashem gives us is a better, higher place than we could earn on our own. “In the place where baalei teshuva stand, the perfectly righteous are not able to stand (Brachot 34b),” because baalei teshuva stand in a place that was given to them as a gift from heaven.  

Our sukkah is a gift of place from God. We sit in it during the holiday of the harvest, and at the time when the entire world is gathering in the harvest, we do a personal harvest. We gather in our actions over the last 40 days and take the time to absorb the results of our spiritual activities, unifying them, and allowing them to take root in our soul, so that we can use them as a source of joy for the entire year. We can take the time to recognize the value of both our successes and our mistakes. The joy of Sukkot is built on a recognition that Hashem loves us and created us imperfect, so that we could have free will. The process is everything. Every mistake, every place of emptiness, is a precious foundation stone for growth and joy.

Yom Kippur

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Jumping In

We are so close to Yom Kippur now. If we let ourselves, we can feel the power of the day. Rabbi Akiva gives us an image for the day: on Yom Kippur, Hashem is our mikvah (Yoma 8:9). The spirituality of the day is a vast pool, and in this case, just walking into it is transformative. “The day itself atones (Yoma 87a).” If we didn’t manage to achieve everything we wanted in the last 40 days, if our teshuvah seems less than complete, we can still walk into Yom Kippur and let the spirituality of the day wash over us.

There is something comforting in that thought, even though there is also the realization that harnessing the full spiritual experience of the day requires that we invest ourselves. Rav Schorr points out that every time we sin there are two results. On the one hand, we deserve repercussions for the harm we caused. At the same time, we also create distance in our relationship with Hashem, and also in our relationship with the truest part of ourselves. If we just wade aimlessly through the spiritual pool of Yom Kippur, the day will be able to bring us kapparah, atonement, mitigating punishments we may deserve. But it can not bring us to taharah, to a place of spiritual connection. For that we need to put in a bit more effort. We have the opportunity to really jump wholeheartedly into the day the way we might jump into a cold pool, or a mikvah.

Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 173) explains the experience of mikvah as one of rebirth. Placing ourselves into the water is an expression of nullification. Under the water we are like the pre-creation world. Emerging from the water is a process of being created anew. Our body and our actions are new.

On Yom Kippur we are like angels, so it is not surprising that the midrash (Shemot Rabbah 16:6) describes them as being born again daily. The midrash describes how the angels praise Hashem each day, and then return to the river of fire, the river Dinar, from where they came originally. Each day Hashem creates them anew from this river. Similarly, we, Am Yisrael, are sunken in our sins, but we return to Hashem in teshuva. And each year Hashem forgives us for our sins and recreates us.

We can understand from the midrash that our teshuva is our river of fire, the river of our embarrassment. Real teshuva, Rav Schorr explains, includes a feeling of displacement. When we face the reality of what we need to atone for, we can feel overwhelmed. We sinned against our loving Creator. We might feel, for a moment, that perhaps it would have been better if we had not been created. We might feel that we can not find our place in this world. The essence of the day is that from that place of nullification, Hashem draws us close.

Hashem is our mikvah. We ask for forgiveness, and Hashem renews us. Zecharya (1:3) teaches, “Return to Me, and I will return to you.” At the moment that we open ourselves up to return to Hashem, Hashem removes the covering from our heart, and returns to us in closeness. We open ourselves up, we ask for taharah, and Hashem grants it. We become like a new creation.

The Chidushei HaRim adds that not only do we become like a new creation, Hashem, who is HaMakom, The Place of the world, gives us a new place. From the liminal space of teshuva, and from the closeness of Yom Kippur, Hashem leads us into our sukkot, where we make our home surrounded by Hashem’s presence.  

To get to Sukkot we first jump, body and soul, into Yom Kippur. We do this with an understanding that the mitzvah of teshuva is qualitatively different on Yom Kippur than it is on the rest of the year. During the year we do teshuva for one thing at a time. We fix one area and leave another untouched until later. This relates to the attribute of Hashem’s mercy that we describe as “ve-nakeh lo yenakeh, He pardons, He does not pardon.” When we are ready, Hashem forgives us in the areas where we are ready to move on, and He holds space for us in the areas where we are stuck.

On Yom Kippur we are invited to approach Hashem through the first two Middot, “Hashem, Hashem: I am Hashem before you sinned, and I am Hashem after you sinned.” This is an all-encompassing approach. This is a promise from Hashem that no matter how far we have moved from where we want to be, or where we once were, we can always come back. We have the opportunity on Yom Kippur to dream. If we can take the time to imagine who we really want to be, we can dive into the day and live the vision.

And if we feel that we are very far from that reality? Then we are still exactly in tune with the essence of the day. Yom Kippur is the day we received the second luchot. Hashem gave them to us even though we were very far from where we were the first time around. We were literally like angels when we stood at Har Sinai for the first time. Our bodies were completely purified. On our heads were two shining spiritual crowns. We didn’t have the luchot in hand, but they were engraved on our hearts. We were free of our yetzer hara, free of the angel of death. And then we lost it all. We sinned with the golden calf and Moshe smashed the first luchot in front of us.

Certainly, the teshuva process after the chet haegel was a river of fire. Not only did we question if we deserved a place in the world, Hashem questioned it as well. And yet, after all of that, we were reborn. We were given another chance. We didn’t get back the same kedusha that we had at Matan Torah, but we did get tahara. The shofar we blow at the end of Yom Kippur is a shofar that reminds us of the shofar we blow at the Yovel, when slaves are freed. It’s a shofar that brings with it spiritual freedom.

The process of Yom Kippur is a process that leads us to freedom. It is a process of shedding whatever separates us from Hashem, whatever is holding us back. Rav Schorr tells us that the power to do this comes from connecting to the aspect of good within us. Each year in the Bet Hamikdash two identical goats were brought into the courtyard. One was marked for Hashem, and was brought as a korban and one was marked “l’azazel” and was thrown off a cliff. The se’ir l’azazel had to stand in the courtyard through the entire process of the avodah of bringing the se’ir l’Hashem. And only after that was completed was it taken out to the cliff. Removing the bad is the second step. First, we find within ourselves every spark of good, everything worthwhile, which we separate out and treasure. From that place of strength and connection, it becomes clear that the parts of ourselves that are separating us from Hashem are not serving us. We are free to let them go. We have the opportunity to live as we want to be, to jump in and immerse ourselves completely in the experience of connection to Hashem.

Parshat Nitzavim/Rosh Hashana

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Nitzavim: We’re Still Standing

This week we leave our curses behind. While the Torah reading cycle is specifically designed for the curses of Ki Tavo to be read before Rosh Hashana, we experienced that last week. This Shabbat, the light of Rosh Hashana is already in the air. This is the time to feel the brachot of new beginnings, and to let that inspire us.

The Zohar in Bamidbar tells us that every time it says, “vayehi hayom, it happened one day” (as in the first chapter of Iyov) it is a reference to Rosh Hashanah. Rav Schorr expands this idea, and says that the first words of our parsha, “You are standing today,” are a refence to Rosh Hashana as well. Just as we stood so many years ago together as a nation, preparing for the transition from Moshe’s leadership to Yehoshua’s, we stand together as a nation this Shabbat, jointly preparing to transition from one year to the next.

On that day in the desert so many years ago, Rashi (Devarim 29:12) tells us that we needed some encouragement to move forward. When we heard the 98 curses of Ki Tavo added on to the 49 curses in Vayikra, we got scared. How would we survive? Moshe told us, as a nation and as individuals, “You are standing today, all of you, before Hashem your G-d.” You angered Hashem many times, but you will always endure. You stand as the day stands. It may become dark for a time, but it will become light again. The purpose of the curses is to enable you not just to stand, but to stand before Hashem.

The first message of Parshat Nitzavim is that the goal of everything we experience, including all of our challenges and difficulties, is to bring us, ultimately, to a place of bracha. This happens when the Kingship of Hashem is revealed, and is the essence of Rosh Hashana. The avodah of the day is to crown Hashem as melech of the world. There is a specific aspect to a Melech, a king, as opposed to a moshal, a ruler. A melech is a king chosen by the people. A moshal is a ruler who dictates by force. On Rosh Hashana we are choosing to recognize Hashem as our King.

This is why we celebrate Rosh Hashanah not on the 25th of Elul, when the world was created, but on the first of Tishrei, when man was created. Of course Hashem rules over the world from the moment it was created. But it is only once we humans, with our faculty of free choice, exist that Hashem can be crowned melech and not just moshal.

The deciding factor is our ratzon, our will. It all depends on the choice we make about what we want. This is expressed clearly at the end of the parsha, when Hashem tells us (Devarim 30:19): “I have placed life and death before you, blessing and curse; and you shall choose life.”

The essence of Rosh Hashana is connecting to our desire for life. What is real life, eternal life? The psukim continue: “To love Hashem your G-d, to listen to him and to cleave to Him, for that is your life and the length of your days.” At the moment when we were created, Hashem blew into us “the breath of life.” The desire and the ability to lead a life that is alive with connection to the eternal is an intrinsic part of who we are.

Each year Hashem’s kingship in the world is renewed. Each physical piece of Hashem’s creation has its part to play in the revelation of Hashem’s kingship in the world, as does each moment in time. The judgement of Rosh Hashana is a judgement on how we fit into the plan. We are gifted with this Shabbat as a time of inspiration before we step into the next year. The break in the week and in our routine gives us a moment to contemplate. What part do we want to play in Hashem’s plan for the upcoming year?  Can we open up our hearts to choosing Hashem as the guiding force in our life? Do we want to choose the life that Hashem wants us to live?

Rosh Hashana: Choose Life

As humans, we don’t have a great record for choosing life. From the very beginning, Adam and Chava chose to eat from the Tree of Knowledge instead of the Tree of Life. The result? Adam was banished from Gan Eden lest he “send forth his hand and take from the Tree of Life and eat and live forever (Bereisheit 3:22).” Rav Schorr explains that after the sin, Adam could not live forever. He needed the tikkun that comes with death.

Where Adam failed, Avraham succeeded.  At the akeidah he “sent forth his hand (Bereisheit 22:10).” When Hashem tasked him with an almost impossible mission, to sacrifice his beloved only son, he chose to do exactly what Hashem asked of him. The kabbalists tell us that at that moment Avraham grasped the Tree of Life. He created something eternal. The spiritual energy that Avraham created was not actualized in the slaughter of Yitzchak in this world. But it was powerful enough to create the spiritual reality of Yitzchak’s ashes resting before Hashem forever. The message is that our spiritual reality can sometimes be different than our physical reality.

How perfect that we read this on Rosh Hashana. Tosafot tells us (Rosh HaShanah 27a) that Rosh Hashana is the time when the world is created in thought and in potential. Sfat Emet explains what Rashi means when he tells us that the world was created first with strict justice, and then upon seeing that that could not endure, with a combination of justice and compassion. Rashi is expressing that the first reality that Hashem created, the world of Din, continues to exist in the higher spiritual realms, in the world of thought, but it can not be expressed completely in our world. In this way, Yitzchak’s ashes rested before Hashem in the spiritual world even as he continued to live in our world.

This cosmic reality parallels our personal reality. We too have a world of thought and a world of actuality. We are not guaranteed the ability to express ourselves in actuality exactly as we might want to. On Rosh Hashana we are judged on the aspect of ourselves that we have control over. We are judged on who we want to be. Our job is to clarify our ratzon.

We are helped tremendously by the spiritual reality of the akeidah. Avraham created a lasting reality in the world of thought. The Sfat Emet points out that as Avraham leaves his servants behind and prepares to walk with Yitzchak to Har Hamoriah, he tells them, “I and the boy will walk to koh, to there (Bereisheit 22:5).” He is echoing the language of Hashem, who promised him (Bereisheit 16:5), “koh yihiyeh zarecha, so shall be your children (like the stars).” And his actions echo through all the generations of his descendants.

Rav Schorr explains that Avraham accomplished perfect action in the world of thought. His entire, perfect intention was to fulfill the Will of Hashem, over and against his own desires. With this spiritual action, Avraham activated potential revelation for all the generations. He gave us the ability to offer ourselves up as korbanot the way Yitachak did—sort of. Rav Saadiah Gaon explains that while we don’t offer ourselves or our loved ones physically as a korban, what we can offer to Hashem on Rosh Hashana is our will. We give over our will to do His Will. The spiritual potential that Avraham activated at the Akeidah is a spiritual inheritance that lasts throughout the generations. However, it remains our job, in each generation, to bring this revelation from potential into actuality.

In the words of the Midrash this is expressed through the concept that the horns of the ram became the shofrot that are sounded throughout history. When we stood at Har Sinai the first shofar of the original ram was sounded and we experienced the greatest spiritual freedom. As the words of the aseret hadibrot were carved into the luchot, this freedom was carved into our soul. The shofar of Rosh Hashana reawakens our connection to the part of ourselves that remains spiritually free.

The second shofar of Avraham’s ram will be blown at the end of days, when we enter into a world of eternal life. R’ Tzadok Hakohen explains that, just as there is a lasting impression made in time from things of the past, there is an impression from the future which reaches backward throughout time and impacts us. When we blow the shofar, if we open ourselves up to it, we can experience an awakening of the freedom of Moshiach.

What is this freedom of the time of Moshiach? It is a freedom of expansion. Yishayahu (27:13) describes the shofar of Moshiach as “gadol.” It is so great, so expansive, that nationally it will reach to those lost in Assyria and exiled in Egypt and bring them to Jerusalem. On a personal level, it is so great, so expansive, that it can reach the hidden point of untouched kedusha within us and awaken it to expand throughout our bodies.

The blowing of the shofar is a time that exists beyond time. When we hear the shofar we are transported to stand before Hashem. We are grounded in the spiritual potential of Avraham. We experience the spiritual influence of Matan Torah. And we are given the opportunity to meet our future selves. It is a moment of din, when we are asked, who do we want to be?

There is a pose in yoga called the star pose, where we spread our hands and legs wide and allow ourselves to take up space in the world, to expand and express ourselves. On Rosh Hashana we are the children of Avraham. We are like the stars. When we hear the shofar, we can connect to the spiritual inheritance we received from him, that spark of will deep inside, and let that spark expand and take up space within us. We can be moser nefesh, sacrifice the will of our nefesh, our lower self, and connect instead to our higher will, our desire to take our rightful place in creation as a beautiful and unique expression of our Creator.

Parshat Ki Tavo

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Experiencing The First Fruits Of Spring At The End Of The Summer

Our parsha begins with the bikkurim, the beautiful first fruits of spring. They are expressions of our hope and joy, which we would bring to the kohen at the time when we were blessed with a Beit Hamikdash. We would stand in the courtyard and retell our history, describing how Hashem took us out of Mitzrayim and brought us to Eretz Yisrael (this is the central declaration of the Haggadah). These words would move us to prayer.  The Midrash Tanchuma describes how, after we would bring the bikkurim, we would bow down completely before Hashem and pray for mercy for ourselves and all of Klal Yisrael. We would refuse to move from our place in the courtyard until we would hear a bat kol, a voice from heaven, declare “he will merit for this year and for the year to come.” We would leave with a feeling of connection, joy and serenity.

I am writing this at the end of the summer, when the world is hot and dry and preparing to hibernate for winter. Separated by so many years from the experience of the Beit Hamikdash, bringing bikkurim seems so very far away. It is therefore other words of the same midrash which resonate for me. The Midrash Tanchuma also describes how Moshe, standing outside of Eretz Yisrael, views with ruach hakodesh both the intensity of the bikkurim experience, and the loss of that experience through the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash. What was Moshe’s response? He established our three daily tefillot.

This is not a halachic explanation of how our tefillot were established (see Brachot 26b for that). Instead, the midrash is pointing out an important connection between the bikkurim and tefillah, a connection we do not want to miss out on at this time of year. Moshe understood that everything in the Torah is eternal, including the spiritual reality of the bikkurim. Moshe established our ability to access the spiritual power of the bikkurim through our prayers. In these days before Rosh Hashana, Rav Schorr invites us to explore this connection of bikkurim and tefillah, and to use our learning to enhance our tefillot.

The essence of tefillah is the recognition that everything comes from Hashem. We begin our prayers with the acknowledgement that everything, even the wisdom we use to pray, is a gift. This is the essence of the bikkurim as well: the recognition that everything we have, all the produce that we harvest, is all a gift from Hashem. We take the first of our possessions and revel in the joy of having them by consecrating them and connecting them back to Hashem.

The Chidushei HaRim points out that we can see our tefillot as a transposition of bikkurim into the medium of time. Davening shacharit means waking up in the morning and recognizing that our time in this world is a gift from Hashem. We take our first few moments of daily time, and revel in the joy of having them by using our tefillot to connect those moments back to Hashem. We do the same at mincha time, when the sun begins its downward trajectory in the sky. We recognize the change in time and hurry to dedicate the rest of the day to Hashem. When night falls, and the quality of our time changes again, we reaccept Hashem’s Kingship, and allow it to guide us in the darkness.

Another striking aspect of the bikkurim was how we completely prostrated ourselves before Hashem. This wasn’t just a simple bow. We would lay down on the floor and spread out our arms and legs in complete surrender before Hashem. This type of complete surrender to Hashem, complete yirah, was something that was unique to the Beit HaMikdash. The yirah, the awe, was the natural response to the re’iyah, the sight, of the revelation of Hashem’s presence that existed there.  Even though we no longer have the Beit HaMikdash, every time we daven we incline our hearts toward Jerusalem, the Beit HaMikdash and the kodesh hakedoshim. Spiritually, despite the distance, the connection to that experience still exists.

Even though it was only the Kohen Gadol who went into the kadosh hakesoshim on Yom Kippur, he entered as the emissary of the entire nation. His soul encompassed all of ours, and the halachic principle that ‘the emissary of a person is like the person himself’ was in effect. When the Kohen Gadol went into the kadosh hakedoshim, it was as if each one of us went in as well.

The kadosh hakedoshim on Yom Kippur was a place where the aspect of Hashem as One was revealed. In the presence of the unity of Hashem, there is no place for our sins to exist. They simply have no effect on that level of reality. Although we can no longer access the kadosh hakedoshim in space, we can access it in time, through the day of Yom Kippur, and we can access it on the level of our soul. Just as there are ten levels of kedusha in Eretz Yisrael culminating in the kodesh hakedoshim, there are ten levels of kedusha in our soul. The Chiddushei HaRim points out that each of us has a spiritual inheritance from Avraham Avinu, a spark that is completely holy, unaffected by any of our sins. Through our tefillot, and particularly through our tefillot on Yom Kippur, we can access that place within ourselves.

One of the ways we reach this aspect of self is by shedding the aspects of ourselves that are covering or hiding it. We do this by accessing our connection to hitchadshut, newness. This is an intrinsic aspect of the bikkurim. The gemara (Megillah 31b) tells us that we read this parsha right before Rosh Hashana because of the brachot and klalot, the blessing and the curses, that are in it. We end the old year and its curses and begin the new year with its blessings. The idea is that the new year is born from the nullification of the previous year’s failings. We let go of the sins that were the source of our troubles in order to begin anew.

In this way we are like the seedling. The seed planted deep in the earth cannot grow until it completely dissolves and disintegrates. We, too, go through this process of facing our failings head-on. We face our troubles and we let them go, recognizing that all our strengths, everything we have, comes from Hashem. When we let go of the things that were holding us down, we can find our personal kodesh hakedoshim within us. From our contact with that place, we can sprout into a new year.

The Torah tells us that the 98 curses of this week’s parsha occurred because “we did not serve Hashem with joy (Devarim 28:47).” We nullify these curses through the joy of the 98 korbanot of sheep which we bring on Sukkot (Rashi, Bamidbar 29:18). Our spiritual path through this period of time is a path that ends in joy.

 In these days before Rosh Hashana we face our failings of the precious year as seedlings. We let go of the parts of ourselves that are not serving us so that we can grow. We open ourselves up to the experience of finding our own personal kodesh hakedoshim on Yom Kippur. And we spend these days maximizing our prayer. We revel in the first moments of our time, sanctifying them and experiencing the joy of connection to Hashem. This path culminates at the end of the month, when we sit in the sukkah, immersed in Hashem’s presence, experiencing true joy.

Parshat Ki Teitzei

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Some Advice for Elul: How to Fight to Win

Part I: The War

According to the Rambam this week’s parsha has 72 mitzvot, making it the parsha with the most mitzvot in the Torah. The mitzvah it begins with is one that talks about war, and the Ohr HaChaim teaches us that this is not just any war. The parsha begins, “when you go out la-milchama,” to the war, the known war. This is the war against the Yetzer Hara.

War is a big theme in Devarim. Last week’s parsha also spoke about war, and Rav Shapiro draws our attention to one pasuk in particular (Devarim 20:3). In this pasuk the kohen, speaking to the nation just before they are about to go to war, tells them not to be afraid four times. Rashi tells us that these four separate warnings relate to four separate battle strategies of the enemy: striking their shields loudly, stamping the ground, beating the horses’ hoofs, and blowing horns.

Why do we need four separate warnings not to be afraid? Because there is a very important message in the number four. There are also four separate warnings against avodah zara in the ten commandments (see Shemot 20:3-5). The Maharal explains that the number four represents externality. Any center point can expand in four directions. The expansion is the external aspect that revolves around the center point.

There are two ways that we can look at this four-fold expansion to externality. As each side expands in its own direction, it can only express a piece of reality. If it remains connected to the center, then the individual piece of reality it expresses is an expression of truth. But if it cuts itself off from the center and claims to represent all of reality while only representing part of reality, it is falsehood. This, says Rav Moshe Shapiro, is the essence of avodah zarah. It is external reality cut off from its source. It is one side of the scene, claiming to express the whole picture.

This is the pattern that is built into the creation of the world. In the beginning, Hashem created the world. This is the center.  The world then continuously expanded in four separate directions. “The earth was desolate and empty with darkness over the face of the abyss.” (Bereisheit 1:2) These four elements expand and separate themselves from the center. Our Chachamim identify them as the root of the four kingdoms under which we were exiled.

The war that we fight in life, the war against the yetzer hara, is always a war of four. The message from Hashem is that we are not supposed to be afraid. The four strategies of the enemy are all just noise. The chapter begins, “when you go to war against your enemies.” The Ohr HaChayim points out that ‘your enemies’ is written so that it can also be read as ‘your enemy’. “The true battle is against the one enemy who deflects us from the essence. Everything else is merely the natural consequence of this war.”

Our parsha is also replete with mitzvot. They are our secret weapon. Rav Schorr describes how, in the same way that the neshama lights up and vitalizes our body, the mitzvot are the inner light of the world. The Midrash in Bamidbar Rabbah (17) describes how Hashem planted the light of the Torah throughout our physical world by means of the mitzvot. There is nothing in this world left without a mitzvah. Wherever we go, whatever we do, there is a mitzvah to accompany us. We harvest grain and have the mitzvah to give to the poor. We kneed dough, and have the mitzvah of challah.  

Rav Schorr explains some of the depth behind this. The light of the Torah was apportioned by Hashem into 613 mitzvot. Each mitzvah was put into the places where we are most likely to forget Hashem. Specifically, each time we change the form of this world, we find ourselves potentially further from our source. We become part of the expansion. The mitzvot return us to our center.  And so, with every change of form, we find another mitzvah. For example, when we harvest the wheat and change its form from plant stalk to wheat, we may find ourselves further away from our source.  We may presume that it is our actions that create our food. The mitzvah to leave the corner of the field for the poor person returns us to reality.

Part II: The War in Elul

From one perspective, Elul is an interesting month in that it is the last month of the year, the farthest month from the beginning. We feel this in Elul when we say to ourselves, “I’m no where near ready for Rosh Hashana to come.” On the other hand, the year is a circle, which means that Elul is also the month right before Rosh Hashana. We feel this when we remember that ‘the King is in the field.’ Hashem is close to us, and teshuva is available at any moment.

The Chidushei HaRim brings our attention to Tehillim 110:3, which speaks about Hashem as our shepherd. According to tradition this pasuk is read in two ways. It is written with the word lo, spelled lamed-aleph, which means ‘not’ and expresses that Hashem created us and we are ‘not’ self-made. It is read with the word lo as if it were spelled lamed-vav, which means his and expresses that we belong to Hashem. When you put these two spellings of the world “lo” together, you have the letters of Elul.

Our avodah in Elul is to combine these two readings of “lo.” On the one hand, we experience how far we are from where we want to be. We are ‘not.’ On the other hand, that recognition is meant to bring us to an awareness that we are ‘His.’ We are always close to Hashem. In this way we are all we need to be and we have everything we need.

Rav Shapiro tells us that Elul, the last month, is also parallel to the end of the Torah and to the end of days. Elul is the month that embodies the nature of the time we are living in. It is a time when the external world is making a lot of noise. There are many forces screaming at us from every direction. The message from Hashem is that we do not have to be afraid. It is only noise. It has no independent reality. It is the expansion of the world, separated from its source. The secret to winning the war in the month of Elul is to ignore all the noise and keep connecting ourselves back to center.